


Chain of Command

by fire_is_my_happy_place



Series: TF2 prompts and drabbles [4]
Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Fisting, Multi, Size Kink, Threesome
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-29
Updated: 2015-10-29
Packaged: 2018-04-28 18:34:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5101370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fire_is_my_happy_place/pseuds/fire_is_my_happy_place
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Zhanna's obsession with cheesecake posters in the Soldier's room presents them all with an opportunity to try something new. The night does not go as Miss Pauling planned. She's okay with that.</p><p>Name suggested by Valoscope for this rare ship, so the fic is hers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Chain of Command

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Valoscope](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Valoscope/gifts).



It started with the sun-bleached cheesecake poster the Soldier would never have remembered to take down. Zhanna found her eyes creeping over to it every time they went to bed, tracing and retracing the familiar lines of the figure on the poster. A small cabin in Siberia had not prepared her for the exuberant nudity of the blonde woman on the poster, whose red, white, and blue bikini was more wishful thinking than cloth. The bright, cheeky smile beneath a general’s helmet, the way the woman arched toward the camera as if she were telegraphing an invitation with her entire body, completely shameless and confident of the viewer wanting to touch her, needing to step through the camera lens and into the room where she stood. Zhanna fell asleep staring at the few inches of cloth between the lens and the body of the woman on the poster, fascinated by her own curiosity and a warmth that never quite faded.

When the Soldier finally noticed, it became a joke between them—one of the many, running jokes they shared as Zhanna adjusted to a mercenary’s life and Solly adjusted to living with anyone living, non-rabid, and human.

When the Soldier came in after a day of mayhem, freshly showered and cheeks scraped free of bristly hairs, he often stopped in front of his desk, already stirring beneath the towel. It was too tempting to pull the towel from him as he stood at attention. After a brief towel crack to redden one of his cheeks, she pressed herself against his back and snaked a hand around him, losing both towels in the process. A few strokes took him from partially hard to gasping, falling quickly out of the tense posture of a salute. The end of the matter was always Zhanna bent happily over the desk, enjoying Solly’s enthusiasm and the sight of that woman’s body, daring her to reach out and touch.

She could only bear looking at the woman for so long before asking.

“Drill sergeant of my heart,” Zhanna crooned, slumped over the desk, “do women like this exist many places in your country?”

The Soldier grunted, his forehead pressed to one of her shoulder blades. “Cupcake,” he said, when he caught his breath, “did you mean naked women or did you mean blondes?”

Zhanna shifted with a moaning sigh. “I mean the naked and the so happy. I am happy with what we do, but so many women we see are unhappy. They are wearing all the clothes and they do not seem so much as if they enjoy the being looked at.”

The Soldier stepped back, sliding out of her, and sat down on the desk. Zhanna turned and joined him, putting her head on his shoulder. The Soldier put his arm around her, watching her feet kick idly, body languid.

“Sugar Lumps, you know it can be a dangerous world out there. And not everyone loves to fight like we do.” A crooked smile spread slowly across his face, a tribute to the memory of wrestling bears and the night that they met. “Poor bastards.”

Zhanna sat up, staring at him with a mix of confusion and slowly dawning horror. “They do not love the fighting? They…. They do not huttah together?”

“No, Sugar Lumps, they do not.”

Zhanna’s hand rose to her mouth, pity pulling the corners of her mouth down. “How do they learn to love? How do they live with rampaging Australians and wild animals?” The first hint of tears glittered in her eyes and she scrubbed at them with the back of her hand. “What do they do about the bears?”

“Oh Love Muffin,” the Soldier said sadly. “This is why you are the most ravishing pile of garbage I have ever witnessed. Because you huttah.”

He pulled her close for a moment, waiting for her tears to be huttahed into messy sniffles. When she had broken their neck and was calm again, the Soldier spoke. “There are women who like to be naked. I have seen you looking at Lady Liberty. If we find a woman like that, would you like to bring her somewhere and be naked together?”

Zhanna’s answering smile was transparently, radiantly happy, if a little damp. “I will bring honey and we will lose all the pants.”

The Soldier raised her hand to his mouth, kissing it. “Maggot, you are sexier every day.”

**< <<< \---- >>>>**

That morning when the Soldier left his room for breakfast, he found himself weighing a variety of approaches to his problem. He could not imagine pairing his Honey Maggot with anything less than another mercenary, someone who knew the joys of huttah and naked honey wrestling. Picking up some woman at a bar would not be grand enough, and Merasmus was not about to animate Lady Liberty for either of them after losing his castle. Really, the only other woman he knew was….

The Soldier stopped dead in the hallway, Zhanna falling into his back with a grunt.

“Love Maggot,” he boomed, “I have found our solution.”

When he explained, Zhanna’s face twisted, lips screwing tight. “I do not like woman,” she said finally. “She does not like me, talks about me like I am not understanding.”

Behind her, Miss Pauling answered. “That’s because she has a mission to arrange, security to ensure, and far too many other things to worry about.”

The Soldier and Zhanna turned to stare at the small, well-armed woman behind them. Glaring back at them both, Miss Pauling continued, crossing her arms. “I caught the last bit of that conversation. That is an entirely inappropriate suggestion to make about your commanding officer, Soldier.”

As Miss Pauling watched, a flush crept up the Soldier’s cheeks. Zhanna half-turned, looking at the Soldier’s embarrassed expression as he stared at the floor, and wheeled, fists already clenched.

“You will be leaving my Honey-Bear alone,” she snarled. “He is good soldier. Idea was mine. Didn’t want you anyway. Not happy enough.”

Miss Pauling’s leather clad toe tapped against the concrete floor, the tempo slowly speeding up. After a moment of silence, she spoke, voice lilting with amusement and a hard edge of irritation. “Not happy enough?”

“ _Nyet_ ,” Zhanna said, staring down her nose at the small circles of Miss Pauling’s glasses and into the agate-hard eyes behind them. “Too small and angry. Not like Lady Liberty, just silly little woman.”

“Wait. Lady Liberty, the poster in his room?” Miss Pauling’s head cocked, a thick hank of black hair falling gracefully from her bun. She tucked it behind her ear with an annoyed huff. “You want to have a threesome with Lady Liberty because she’s happy?”

The Soldier scuffed the steel-sheathed toe of his boot against the floor. “More than happy,” he muttered. “She’s Lady Liberty. She’s perfect.”

Both women turned to eye him angrily. He grabbed the sides of his helmet and yanked it down over his eyes, muttering.

“And you thought you’d ask me,” Miss Pauling said, voice trailing away. She was surprised to find herself considering it, instead of swearing at them both. _Solly is too scruffy_ , she thought, _and too damn dumb for what I normally like_. _Zhanna is just as cheerfully violent as he is and probably just as dumb_. _But they are both splendidly big, and the Soldier will take orders from a commanding officer. And it would be very convenient._

She eyed the Soldier’s large hands where they curled against the chipped enamel of his helmet before her gaze drifted over Zhanna’s tense, muscular body. _Look at the size of them._ Heat crept up Miss Pauling’s spine with sharp feet, prickling, at the thought of his huge, calloused hands on her. _I just have to convince him I’m his commanding officer._ Remembering their performance on the field together, Miss Pauling added, _she’ll go along if he does._

Miss Pauling drew herself up straight, deciding to ignore the fact that it still left her a foot shorter than Zhanna and more than a foot shorter than the Soldier, under the principle that the height difference didn’t exist if she didn’t acknowledge it. “Soldier,” she barked, “Atten-shon.”

Surprised, the Soldier settled immediately into parade rest, his chin coming up as his hands clasped behind his back. His eyes at first settled on the hall behind Miss Pauling, then snapped back to her, searching.

“You will not get to have your way with Lady Liberty,” Miss Pauling continued, voice brusque, “but she may have her way with you.”

She could see the Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat, his eyebrows meeting and then flying up to disappear under the dull green rim of his helmet as he realized what she was saying. Beside him, Zhanna had fallen into her own version of parade rest, breasts out-thrust and hands clasped behind her bowed back. If the net result was not, strictly speaking, military, it was certainly enthusiastic in a way Miss Pauling appreciated.

When the Soldier grunted his mixture of surprise and assent, Zhanna realized what Miss Pauling had meant. Zhanna sprang forward like a cat, bending slightly to look Miss Pauling in the eye and then looking her up and down, evaluating. Surprise sent a painful thrill through Miss Pauling, reminding her that a size difference was in fact a power difference, and that if it came to sheer strength, she was very outweighed and underpowered.

“Is very small,” Zhanna said, looking over her shoulder at the Soldier. “And is not blonde or happy.”

Miss Pauling growled once, but the Soldier spoke before she did. “Love Maggot, we are at attention,” he said, voice rising to a bellow. “Attention!”

Zhanna blinked twice, surprised, then went back to stand beside the Soldier, imitating his posture as best she could.

“Let me worry about happy,” Miss Pauling said, mentally adding a few props to her shopping list. “You worry about respecting your superior officer.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the Soldier said, unable to hide the skip of laughter in his voice. When Miss Pauling waved her hand and dismissed him, he jogged off down the corridor, towing Zhanna by the hand.

Miss Pauling’s eyes narrowed. It was entirely possible the Soldier had been laughing at her. It could not be allowed to stand.

**< <<< \---- >>>>**

A week passed, finding both Zhanna and the Soldier nervous and then angry.

“If little woman meant to say no, should have said no,” Zhanna growled. “Love Bear, I do not like to wait.”

The Soldier shrugged, a graceful roll of his shoulders. Neck tight with far more anxiety than he had anticipated, he was very nearly sure Miss Pauling had changed her mind. He realized he was actually disappointed and knew Zhanna was equally disappointed, though she would not have confessed to it.

It came as a surprise to them both when Miss Pauling stopped them after dinner, nearly stomping as she cornered them both in the hall. “I expect to see you both in your quarters at 21:00 hours,” she said, gaze flinty. “Do not disappoint me.”

After a shocked moment, the Soldier saluted. Zhanna merely glared, eyes narrowed, until the Soldier elbowed her.

“Fine,” Zhanna said curtly. “Will see what little woman is made of.” After a flip little salute, Zhanna folded her arms over her chest.

“21:00 hours,” Miss Pauling repeated. “Your quarters.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the Soldier said, and Miss Pauling was surprised to see that he was discretely eyeing her.

As she waited, they turned and walked off toward the showers.

**< <<< \---- >>>>**

In the shower, Zhanna and the Soldier stripped efficiently and silently. The Soldier, recognizing her mood, circled Zhanna. Her shoulders were high, the visible muscle in them shifting and standing up, her back rigid. New to a command structure, she still resented being told what to do, a difficulty that the Soldier had lost many years ago thanks to the care of the US Army and the blend of confusion and needless obscurity the company had used to delegate assignments.

“Let me wash you, Honey Maggot,” he said, lathering his hands.

Zhanna flipped her wet hair over her shoulder and leaned into him as he soaped her. “Drill sergeant of my heart, are we sure we wish to do this with small angry woman? Still does not seem happy.”

The Soldier made a contemplative hum deep in his chest and let his hands drift lower. “If you do not wish, we won’t. But I would like to try, Cupcake. I think we could always make her happy.”

Zhanna squeaked, startled, then reached behind herself, pulling the Soldier close. “Is true. You are very good at making women happy.”

The Soldier smiled into the side of her neck and wrapped an arm around the front of Zhanna’s body, tickling. With a pleased squeal, she leaned into him.

**< <<< \---- >>>>**

Miss Pauling let herself into the Soldier’s room early, after making sure that it was empty. Dropping the bag with a thump, she wrapped her arms around herself and squeezed. The room was exactly as she’d seen it in the grainy, black and white screens at the central office—a small concrete cube containing a messy bed that took up roughly a third of the room, a standard issue chest of drawers with small mirror, a closet, and a ton of dirty clothes in heaps around the corners of the room.

The scenery was not what she would have picked for something like this, and completely failed to suggest anything to her outside the pressing need for bleach.

It would be up to her to set the mood. She took a deep breath, then walked over to lock the door, the sound surprisingly loud in the silent room.

“Right,” she said to herself. “I can do this.”

Miss Pauling reached down and opened the bag with a click. She had modeled the outfit after the poster. It wasn’t a perfect reproduction, she knew, but it had the general spirit. Reaching behind herself, Miss Pauling unzipped and stepped out of her skirt, then unbuttoned and dropped her blouse. After a moment, she picked both up and folded them, then tucked them into the bag. Her bra and underwear followed after another pause, leaving her hugging herself and covered with goosebumps. From the bag, she pulled a red, white, and blue bikini, larger than the poster original but still, in her opinion, scandalously small. Settling it with a snap from the elastic, she reached in again for thigh-high stockings. Blushing faintly, she sat in the desk chair to roll them up her legs. She stood and half-turned, tugging gently to straighten the seam. The top of the stockings settled tightly into the hollows at the top of her thighs, made for someone at least three inches taller. Her irritated huff was habitual, a short woman in a world made for much taller people.

Straightening, she ran a hand over the chilled skin of her stomach to the elastic band of the bikini. Licking her lips nervously, she looked down the line of her body. _If I stop to think about this_ …

Miss Pauling stepped back into the black leather pumps, concentrating on tucking her hair up under the helmet and bending toward the mirror to apply a layer of cherry-bright lipstick. In the mirror over the chest of drawers, her reflection stood up straight, the poster Solly called Lady Liberty beaming over her shoulder. Miss Pauling compared them both—perhaps she wasn’t blonde, and she certainly didn’t have improbably large breasts. Perhaps she was much shorter and a bit more delicate than their beloved Lady Liberty.

But the overall effect was quite nice, even a bit more daring than she thought she’d quite be able to do. And she had something the poster didn’t.

The last object out of the bag was the riding crop. She’d been unsure whether to include it, but something about the leather, the snap and the way it thumped against the skin, had made it irresistible. Miss Pauling cut the air with it, making a briefly echoing sizzle across the concrete walls of the room. Even if she never got to use it, she could justify it by mentioning General Patton.

She’d watched the movie by way of research while waiting for the bikini and helmet to come in the mail. The crop had been hers. She’d bought it years ago, an impulse purchase she’d never had the chance to use.

She was dying to use it.

She was worried she wouldn’t use it right.

A deep, shuddering breath and she clicked to the door, unlocking it. Miss Pauling turned and, considering the room, sat down in the desk chair. Putting her heels up, she ran her hands restlessly over and over the leather of the crop, waiting for the door to open.

**< <<< \---- >>>>**

Laughing, the Soldier chased Zhanna into their room, both still clad in towels, his helmet on Zhanna’s head. The Soldier closed the door behind them both and turned to see his supervisor set her heels down flat on the floor with a graceless clack. His mouth went dry immediately, following the dark mist of the stockings up to the black leather stripe of the riding crop across her knees, behind it to the tiny flag-spangled bikini, and up to the helmet, then over to the poster to compare.

Zhanna tilted the helmet up and whistled. “Is looking much happier. I do not have honey, Love Bear.”

Miss Pauling stood, spine straight but still a foot shorter than either of them. The Soldier looked down on the polished crown of her helmet and the commanding expression beneath it, the combination of stern face and lushly red lipstick.

Voice rough, he spoke. “Cupcake, I don’t think we’ll need the honey.”

“Atten-shun,” Miss Pauling barked. Biting the corner of his mouth to prevent what he was sure would be a terribly lascivious grin, the Soldier went to parade rest again. Zhanna joined him, losing her towel in the process. The Soldier’s ability to suppress his grin went with it.

Miss Pauling bit her lower lip, looking at the swell of muscle on both mercenaries and the heavy globes of Zhanna’s breasts, tight from the chill. “Here are the rules,” she said, voice unconsciously higher than her normal, careful alto. “Anything we do here has no bearing on how any of us behave out on the field.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the Soldier said, his eyes tracing the thin cloth of the bikini top where it failed to quite hide the hard peaks of Miss Pauling’s nipples. The urge to grin was gone, replaced with a variety of urges, including the desire to watch Zhanna make Miss Pauling happy before diving into them both with a gleeful shout.

Zhanna grunted, comparing Miss Pauling to the poster. If Miss Pauling was smaller and not blonde, she still captured something of the gleeful boldness of Lady Liberty. The little woman was shivering, the lipstick utterly unlike her normal, half-hearted bun and complete lack of concern with how she looked. The helmet and crop merely emphasized, like the lipstick, the sheer daintiness of the woman. But the bikini, the helmet, the heels, the hose—those were pure Lady Liberty.

 _Kotikya_ , Zhanna thought. _Adorable kitty trying hard_. She looked at the crop where it swung loosely in Miss Pauling’s fingers. _And there are her little kitty claws_.

“The next rule is that I am the C.O. here, just like I am on the field.” Miss Pauling stared at them both in turn, waiting to see how they would take it, or what they would say.

The Soldier merely shrugged. It was more or less what he had expected. The woman was bound to want to ensure that nothing interfered with her job, and it only seemed natural that she’d want the control in the bedroom as well.

Zhanna’s eyes narrowed as she contemplated whether or not the kitten should be setting the rules. After a moment, she spoke. “For now, _kotikya_. For now. Perhaps later I change my mind.”

Miss Pauling took a breath as if she were about to argue, eyebrows furrowed, then nodded grudgingly. “For now.”

After a moment, she continued, her voice breathy. “For now, I’d like the Soldier to pull that chair up to the bed.”

The Soldier bounded toward the chair, startling them all, and wrestled it near the bed. For lack of anything better to do, he went back to parade rest again beside Zhanna.

“Now, I’d like… I mean, I’d like….” Miss Pauling realized her hands were sweating. She’d spent the week imagining what she would do, playing the scenario out in her head and trying to figure out how to go about it. And yet, when it came to it, it was somehow harder to issues orders here, with the both of them nude and watching her expectantly. There was nothing to hide behind, no clipboard or neat office attire to wear as a shield between her and the mercenaries she managed.

They waited, patient despite the fact that she had obviously frozen. Somehow, that made it better and worse: that they were willing to wait, that they had to wait. Miss Pauling squared her shoulders.

“Show me,” she said, voice firming, “what you like to do best. Put on a show for me. If I like it, I might let you do the same to me.” With a plunk, Miss Pauling sat down in the chair by the bed, putting her feet up on the mattress and crossing them.

Zhanna and the Soldier looked at each other.

“You wanna start this one, Honey Maggot?” The Soldier relaxed out of parade rest, and reached carefully for his helmet on Zhanna’s head.

“ _Nyet_ ,” Zhanna said, leaning back slightly to keep the helmet. “I will be starting, but I will be keeping the helmet.”

The Soldier grinned crookedly as Zhanna reached over, pulling him, one-armed, into a kiss. Her other hand flew up to the helmet, keeping it on as her head tilted. The Soldier wrapped both arms around her, muscles bunching up as he pulled Zhanna off her feet. She made a low noise and let go of the helmet, which fell to the floor with a clatter. Digging his fingers under her ass, he picked her up as she wrapped her legs around his hips.

Three heavy steps got them both to the bed, where the Soldier very gently tossed Zhanna. With a pleased squeal, she reached out for him. He growled and pounced, forcing Miss Pauling to move her heels lest they get knocked off.

The Soldier, still kissing Zhanna, snuck a hand between them. He’d thoughtfully warmed Zhanna up a bit in the shower, knowing that she had plenty of reason to resent Miss Pauling and hoping to give her an excuse to overlook her hurt pride. She was still wet under his probing fingers, muscle fluttering and tugging at his fingers.

“Why Honey Maggot,” he said, a trifle smugly for Miss Pauling’s taste, “I see you’re prepared for war.”

Zhanna simply giggled and gave him a fond smile. “War is best with you, my Drill Sergeant.”

 _Somehow_ , Miss Pauling thought, surprised, _it isn’t saccharine when they say that_. Any vestigial urge to roll her eyes vanished entirely as the Soldier kissed his way down the front of Zhanna’s body reverently, stopping to tickle the visible ridge of muscle lining the inside of her hip with the slow drift of this lips.

Miss Pauling squirmed with Zhanna, the center seam of her bikini pressing against her uncomfortably, and then rather comfortably in a distracting way. She twitched her hips to discretely resettle the seam and realized both Zhanna and the Soldier were watching her.

They kept watching her as the Soldier sank down between Zhanna’s thighs, flattened on the bed to give Miss Pauling a better view. She could feel the flush rising in her cheeks as the Soldier finally broke eye contact, thumbs gently spreading Zhanna’s lips before he leaned forward to suck her clit into his mouth.

Zhanna kept watching Miss Pauling, watching the flush rising hot in the woman’s cheeks, the discrete squirm in her chair. As Zhanna’s breath shortened, so did Miss Pauling’s breath. As Zhanna moaned, Miss Pauling moaned, a tiny little sound that shocked all three of them.

With a smug smile cloned from the Soldier, Zhanna broke eye contact and reached for the back of the Soldier’s head. Miss Pauling scooted forward unconsciously in the chair, something the Soldier noticed but Zhanna was too distracted to notice, the hoarse sound of her moans spiraling higher.

From the edge of her chair, Miss Pauling could see the Soldier’s mouth moving, the pebbled surface of his tongue gently flicking, now teasing, now sucking again. Beneath his wet chin, she could just see the edge of his fingers where they disappeared and reappeared. When Zhanna came, Miss Pauling could see the muscle moving around the Soldier’s fingers, the skin plush, swollen, and wet.

The Soldier sat back on his heels, the smug smile back on his face, fingers still in Zhanna to milk the last aftershock from her as her head tossed on the bed. Slowly, nearly painfully slowly, he pulled his fingers out, small puddles of liquid in the creases of knuckle and joint. A quick glance to the tiny figure in the chair told him that Miss Pauling, for whatever her intention to watch had been, was all but ready to crawl onto the bed with Zhanna. He licked his lips, thinking.

“Honey Maggot,” he said tentatively, “I’d like to do something slightly different.”

Zhanna’s breathless snort prompted him to continue.

“Honey Maggot, I think it’d be fun to do what we do over the desk, but with you bent over by the chair.”

Zhanna’s answering chuckle was rich. “Do you suppose,” she said mischievously, “the _kotikya_ would mind?”

Miss Pauling cleared her throat, fumbling her glasses up her sweat-slick nose. “That would be most satisfactory, yes.” She scooted back in the chair, her feet dangling an inch above the floor in a way both the Soldier and Zhanna found adorable. Zhanna sat up with a grunt and wrapped her large hands around the arms of the chair.

The fact that it caged Miss Pauling was missed by no one.

Eye contact again—lids swollen with her lips, Zhanna bent at the waist, putting her face inches from Miss Pauling, whose knuckles were white on her crop.

Miss Pauling could see it when the Soldier slid into Zhanna, small muscles in her face and shoulders tensing, and then loosening. Over Zhanna’s shoulder, the Soldier was grinning again, his fingers tight on Zhanna’s hips.

 _What a goddamn view_. The Soldier moved once, watching the muscle in Zhanna’s back flex as he moved. Over her shoulder, Miss Pauling’s mouth came open slightly, hunger burning in her face, chest heaving and flushed. He knew Zhanna’s face would be flushed as well, the mischief in it slowly dissolving. For the pleasure of it, both because he could see what it was doing to Miss Pauling and feel what it was doing to Zhanna, he slowed, aching with the need to spill himself into her violently.

He was not at all surprised when Miss Pauling let go of the crop in her lap and reached up for Zhanna’s face, cupping it and then kissing her—there was only so long anyone could be as tempted as Miss Pauling looked before doing something about it. Zhanna’s head tilted, letting him see Miss Pauling’s hand, tiny, on Zhanna’s cheek.

Miss Pauling was surprised. She’d meant to watch more than participate, to keep herself somewhat above what they were doing. It was impossible. Impossible to ignore Zhanna’s face inches from hers, breath hot against her lips, the flush and a single trickle of sweat that traveled down the high edge of Zhanna’s cheekbones. She’d wanted to lick it, that trickle and the lips close to hers, to taste Zhanna for herself. Zhanna’s mouth was hot on hers, filled with a desperation that spoke of how close she was.

Zhanna was also surprised. She had not expected the woman to kiss her, nor that the kiss would be so sweet, the light pressure of Miss Pauling’s small hands on her face and the woman’s shy gentleness. With a small noise that Miss Pauling swallowed, Zhanna reached forward, grasping at and finding the cool skin of Miss Pauling’s waist. Zhanna pulled Miss Pauling in as close as she could, then stepped forward slightly, letting the Soldier slide out of her. Miss Pauling was a tiny bundle in Zhanna’s arms, easy to pick up. The crop fell to the floor with a muffled clatter.

Miss Pauling made a startled eep and pulled back slightly, blinking rapidly.

“ _Kotikya_ does not mind?” Zhanna shifted slightly, an arm snaking under Miss Pauling’s ass to support her.

Miss Pauling, blushing furiously, opened her mouth to scold, then shut it with a clack. To be so small in another woman’s arms, to be held so easily and so completely—she wanted, desperately, to be picked up further, to settle her legs over Zhanna’s shoulders and be suspended between them as Zhanna made her scream.

“I… ummm… no.” Miss Pauling slowly wrapped her arms, then legs around Zhanna’s waist. “I’d… I mean do you…” Her eyes slid down to look at herself and then up again, pleading.

Zhanna’s eyebrows shot up. “Would like me to lick?”

Miss Pauling’s blush went from red to blazing. From where he lay on the bed, the Soldier chuckled, then spoke. “Laying or standing? You’re a bitty thing and I can always help.”

Miss Pauling eeped again and ducked her head, pressing her forehead into Zhanna’s chest. Zhanna joined the Soldier in laughing, the sound echoing in the small room.

The Soldier stood and walked around Zhanna, putting his hands at first tentatively on Miss Pauling’s sides. When she took a breath and leaned back, her eyes begging him not to be laughing at her, the Soldier smiled, then tilted his head awkwardly to kiss her gently on the lips. She reached out for his neck and he stepped back slightly, both hands under her back. With a grunt, Zhanna picked Miss Pauling up, slinging her legs over Zhanna’s shoulder.

“Present is wrapped,” Zhanna said. “Will have to unwrap it.”

The Soldier shifted as Zhanna pulled the strings that held the bikini together, settling Miss Pauling’s head on his shoulder and watching down the line of her body as Zhanna tossed the bikini bottom down and gripped the tight globes of Miss Pauling’s ass. She was so tiny, her torso a few bare feet between him and Zhanna. In his ear, Miss Pauling moaned breathily. The Soldier glanced at the side of her face, then looked down her body again to see Zhanna wink at him, mouth wet and glistening. He grinned at her fondly. He had no doubt his Honey Maggot would be excellent as excellent at that as she was at any other kind of fucking.

Miss Pauling’s eyes rolled up her head. Suspended between them by their hands on her back, calloused and huge, spread to support her. Nothing to keep her from falling but their hands and the bodies she clung to with arms and thighs. Zhanna’s mouth was huge on her and hot, tongue probing and finding the ridge of her clit and teasing it up, wet, cunt already shivering, heat and hunger and the sensation of being so tiny. She came up off their hands, Zhanna’s tongue buried in her and writhing, the wet sucking sounds of it drowned out by her choked scream as she came, grinding herself against Zhanna’s chin as Zhanna’s fingers tightened painfully to hold her still.

“Is good,” Zhanna said thickly. “Is happy little woman.”

“We should take her over there,” the Soldier said, nodding toward the bed.

Miss Pauling nearly hurt herself nodding over and over, head flailing.

They walked her to the bed and let her fall to it gently. Miss Pauling yanked the bikini top off and tossed it over the edge of the bed.

“Well,” the Soldier said, plunking down on the edge of the bed, “what would you like us to do now.”

“Me,” said Miss Pauling, her voice husky.

“Both of us?” Zhanna sat down beside the Soldier, her hand sliding around his waist. Her tongue darted out to lick her wet chin.

Miss Pauling sucked her lower lip into her mouth, pupils fat and dark. “Oh god yes.”

The Soldier leaned back on his arms. “How do you want us?”

“I want you both to touch me,” Miss Pauling said. “I want to feel your skin next to mine. I want…” A flood of images—their bodies on either side of her, swallowing her up, those huge, calloused hands roaming across her. Applying the crop to the Soldier as he fucked Zhanna, telling him to go faster, to fuck harder. Demanding they please her and threatening to beat them if they don’t.

She shivered and reached for them both. The Soldier, closest to her, pulled her into his lap and wrapped her legs around him. He turned them both on the bed, scooting toward Zhanna, who wrapped her legs around them both, cradling Miss Pauling between them.

 _Heat. They are so warm_. The feel of nipples against her back. Miss Pauling let her head sag back onto Zhanna, who reached around her. Zhanna’s hands engulfed her breasts, covering them entirely and dragging their calluses across the tight peaks of Miss Pauling’s nipples. Miss Pauling ran her hands up Zhanna’s forearms, muscle tight under her fingers as the Soldier reached down between them.

His fingers were thick, so very thick, slickly pushing into her as his cock stirred against her ass.

“Please,” Miss Pauling gasped, her eyes wild. The Soldier smiled, that same infuriatingly smug smirk that Miss Pauling promised herself she’d beat him for at some point, and picked her up. With a twitch of his hips and the assistance of a hand, he pushed himself into her.

She gasped, eyelids fluttering closed. In her ear, Zhanna said quietly. “Is good, isn’t he?” Zhanna’s fingers tightened on Miss Pauling’s nipples, sending pain like a spike through her. “Is very good.”

Miss Pauling would have nodded, or simply have said something, but she was drowning in the feel of it, of her body pressed between them, small and utterly surrounded, and the feel of the Soldier inside her, pressure and heat and the slickness of sweat and Zhanna crooning terribly dirty things in her ear as she squeezed and twisted the tight nubs of her nipples.

“Fuck,” the Soldier panted. “If you don’t want me to come in you, you need to say something.”

Miss Pauling opened her eyes to look at him, at the flush on his face. His breath was ragged, fingers pale with tension where they grasped her waist.

“Fuck, please,” he gasped. “Say something.”

Miss Pauling grinned nastily and fucked herself on him, feeling him shake with the need to spill himself, his expression verging on pain.

“Beg,” she said.

“Jesus fucking goddamn Christ lady, please god please fucking goddamn cock-sucking please…” he trailed off, the first prickle of tears standing glossy in his eye.

Miss Pauling came with a shudder and a frantic nod to him. With a bellow, he joined her, body straining toward her and then away like the lash of a whip.

Zhanna hummed contemplatively in her ear. “Must remember that one. Honey Bear is quite sexy when like this.”

Miss Pauling clambered off the Soldier, who flopped backward on the bed with a pained squeal from the springs, utterly limp. On her knees, she looked down at him for a moment, satisfied with the bonelessness of his body.

When she turned, Zhanna was looking at her, a dark eyebrow cocked. “And now, _kotikya_ , I am needing something.”

“Oh yes you are,” Miss Pauling growled. “Tell me something. Do you like a little pain?”

Zhanna’s lips quirked and she raised a hand, pointing to the jagged line of scar that braceleted her wrist. “ _Kotikya_ , pain does not bother me.”

“I want to see how many fingers I can get into you.” Somehow, somewhere in the process, the same shyness that had made it so hard for her to start was gone. Miss Pauling was only too pleased to see it go, and just as pleased when Zhanna reached behind herself and tossed a squeeze bottle of lube at Miss Pauling.

“Little woman,” she said drily, “has little hands. Could not do this with Honey Bear. Is too big. But little woman might be able to.”

Zhanna let Miss Pauling push her back with a trembling hand between her breasts. _There is something of her brother in her_ , Miss Pauling thought. _That same sardonic stoic sense of humor, the same sense of leashed strength and violence_.

Zhanna folded her arms behind her head to prop it up and stretched her legs out on either side of Miss Pauling, bumping and then laying atop the Soldier, who grunted and reached up to idly rub Zhanna’s calf.

Her self-assurance was maddening. Miss Pauling’s eyes narrowed, and she squirted a handful of lube out with a burping sound from the tube. Lube still cold, she reached down to trace the wet lips between Zhanna’s muscular thighs.

Zhanna snorted, muscles twitching like a horse might at the bite of a fly, but she said nothing.

Miss Pauling looked down at the dark red flesh beneath her fingertips, smooth and viscous and feverishly hot. She stretched the first slide into Zhanna out, savoring the feel of bumps that grew smooth against the whorls of her fingertips, and then became ridges that surrendered easily to one finger, then two.

Zhanna hummed for a moment, thinking. “ _Kotikya_ ,” she said gently, “do not have to start so slow with me. Your fingers are quite small. If liking it, stay slow. But I am not delicate woman. If I do not like, will say something.”

Miss Pauling’s third finger slid in just as easily, a tapered bundle that grew wide at the base. Behind her, the Soldier sat up and leaned forward, resting his chin on Miss Pauling’s shoulder. When she didn’t tell him to leave, he scooted closer and moved his chin to her head, his arms curling around her to hold Zhanna’s thighs.

The fourth finger made Zhanna gasp, her hands flying away from the back of her head and curling around the Soldier’s calves. The wet squelch as Miss Pauling’s hands moved was, in her opinion, one of the sexiest sounds she’d ever heard.

“Honey Maggot,” the Soldier rumbled, “you are doing just great.”

Zhanna’s laugh was weak but clear, and faded into a yowling moan. The muscles relaxed around Miss Pauling’s fingers, the squelch growing louder as Miss Pauling pushed into Zhanna more violently.

“Fold your thumb,” the Soldier said quietly in her ear. “Please. I want to watch.”

With a brief moment of pressure, Miss Pauling’s thumb slipped in as well. The Soldier could not control his gasp, but the small sound of it was drowned out by the great sobbing moans pouring out of Zhanna’s mouth. Miss Pauling braced her free hand on Zhanna, thumb resting on her clit, so that she could get a little further in, past the tightening and loosening ring of muscle. With a pop she felt more than heard, Miss Pauling’s hand slid into Zhanna to the fine bones of her wrist.

Miss Pauling carefully, gently curled her fingers into a fist, moving bare centimeters at a time to listen to Zhanna howl, the muscle around her fist tugging at it, pushing at it.

The Soldier reached around her, moving her free hand to give his access to Zhanna’s clit. “Let me,” he said. “You’re distracted.”

Miss Pauling grunted, irritated, then went back to raptly watching the effect her hand was having on Zhanna, watching Zhanna sweat and writhe. A few more small pushes, back and forth, and Zhanna screamed, clawing at the sheets around her, eyes rolled up into her head.

Miss Pauling carefully straightened her fingers and slid them out of the bone-crushing pressure, numbed and limp. She crawled up Zhanna’s body to curl up beside her, and the Soldier joined her. After a few seconds of awkward shifting, they fell into a comfortable mass of sweaty, tangled limbs.

“That did not work out,” Miss Pauling said, “quite like I thought it would.”

The Soldier nuzzled Zhanna’s hair. “It turned out pretty goddamn good. If that’s how Lady Liberty wants to have her way with us, she can have her way with us whenever she likes.”

Zhanna was silent for a moment. “Little woman is not so bad,” she finally said. “But kittens cannot be in control all the time.”

Miss Pauling blew a raspberry at her, too tired to do more than lay there, the echoes of pleasure ringing in her body. “I never did get to that crop.”

“Next time,” the Soldier said sleepily. “Next time.”

**Author's Note:**

> Suggested Soundtrack: "Her Sassy Kiss," My Life with the Thrill Kill Kult


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